


The Perils of Dormitory Life with Tony Stark

by unstarred



Series: Steve Rogers Doesn't Remember Signing Up for This (Among Other Things) [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bromance, Friendship, Gen, Steve is a knight, Tony just likes to cause distress sometimes, maybe feels yet to be realized
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:44:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unstarred/pseuds/unstarred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a great many things: college junior, football player, aspiring artist, and roommate to one Tony Stark. Here's what a weekend is like in Steve's Tony-plagued life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perils of Dormitory Life with Tony Stark

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by these gif sets by [capsiclerogers](http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com): [1](http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/29263930989/what-if-college-au), [2](http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/29267055230/what-if-tonys-college-shenanigans-that-steve). Dialogue lifted or adapted from the gif sets are used with permission and are the product of [capsiclerogers](http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com)'s wonderful brain. Thank you for the great inspiration and for allowing me to use your words! Also a big thank you to [isengard](http://archiveofourown.org/users/isengard/pseuds/isengard) for being the first reader and helping me out!
> 
> This fic is pretty standalone right now, but given enough time, I might revisit this story and write more about them soon, don't worry. :D

It was a bit of an understatement to say that Tony Stark was a jerk. And having been Tony's roommate and very reluctant wingman for the last three years, it was on good authority when Steve Rogers described him as more of a total, unabashed douchebag. Not that Steve would ever say that out loud, of course. It just wasn't in good taste, and Steve didn't want Tony to feel like his antics were getting to him.

That was the thing: on a good day, Tony was, at the most, a smug, annoying jerk. But once he knew how to get to you, he'd be an even more smug, extremely annoying sonofabitch. Steve was convinced that, much like the machines Tony loved to build, Tony himself was hardwired to be something. Some people were enablers, some were nurturers, and others were builders or thinkers. And while Tony could fall under those last two categories, Steve thought Tony was in a league all his own. Tony Stark was a great many things, but at the very core, Tony was a deconstructor. Now Steve wasn’t sure if that was an actual concept, but he was pretty sure that’s what Tony was. He took things apart to see how they worked, to expose flaws and inconsistencies, and then he tried to put everything back together differently, because he can. He did the same thing with people: challenged them, infuriated them, drove them to distraction to get reactions, because that was how he was able to get insight into people’s brains. Steve could wax philosophical about this at any given day, but right now, all he wanted to do was to finish this Humanities paper, which was due Monday. It was only Friday (technically Saturday, since it was past midnight), but he wanted to hang out with his friend Bucky Barnes that weekend—it’s been weeks since they last saw each other, so Steve wanted this paper done before Saturday night. But no, Tony Stark wouldn’t have it. Tony Stark would get himself hauled in by campus security at one in the morning for attempting to “borrow” one of the statues on the quad.

 _Really, Tony? Are we seriously doing this right now?_ Steve wanted to ask, but this was Tony, and the answer would always be _Of course we are, Steve my boy. Science waits for nothing and no one,_ so instead he asked, “Do you need clothes or anything?” The last time Steve bailed Tony out of somewhere, there was a distinct lack of clothing involved, and though it was mid-September and Tony would hardly die from hypothermia (unlike last time, which was winter), Steve felt the need to bring Tony a shirt, at least.

“I need my freedom, Steve. They cannot keep thwarting my efforts to make the world a better place,” Tony replied. “And yes, before you ask, I may be a _teensy_ bit drunk. But just a tiny bit, Steve, I swear. Please don’t make faces at me even if I can’t see them.”

What did one say to that, anyway? Steve fought the disapproving frown that he knew was on his face. “Stay there, Tony, please. Don’t break another security officer.”

Sighing, Steve saved what he had on his paper so far and closed his laptop. He pulled a hoodie on and stuffed his wallet, room key, and mobile phone in the pockets. He sprinted out the dorm room and shut the door, remembering it was way past lights-out. Steve couldn’t afford to get into any more trouble, so he took out his phone and sent their head RA Pepper Potts a text: _5150._ He was halfway across campus when Pepper replied: _Godspeed, soldier._

Steve wasn’t that winded from the run—he’s done more grueling stuff in football practice, but the sudden exertion after several hours of sitting at his desk typing got his blood running, and Steve could feel a flush pulsing underneath his skin as he slowed down to a jog and entered the security office.

“There he is, my gentle knight, come to free me from my unjust captors,” Tony announced, gesturing widely, when he saw Steve.

Logan, the night security head, just gave Steve a look of resignation. “You need to find better friends, Rogers. You deserve more than this crazy bastard.”

Tony managed to give Logan an indignant face. “I happen to be the best friend Steve Rogers has ever known.”

“Just go before I change my mind about letting you loose,” Logan muttered.

Steve gave Logan an apologetic look. “Thanks, Logan. Can’t promise it won’t happen again, but yeah. Thanks. I owe you.”

Tony frowned. “You don’t owe him anything. I have a right to express myself. It’s not your fault that he’s an old bag o—” Steve, horrified, covered Tony’s mouth and dragged Tony out of the security office.

Steve somehow managed to get across campus while enduring Tony’s muffled drunken tirade (Steve didn’t dare take his hand off Tony’s mouth) about student oppression and his efforts to cling to Steve’s leg like a koala. He deposited Tony on the floor of the hallway in front of their room while Steve unlocked the door. “Come on, Tony, up.” He pulled Tony up from under the arms.

“The floor is cool and comforting, Steve.”

“Shall I leave you out here for Pepper to find in the morning, then?”

“Wha—” Tony looked up. “Pepper?” He furrowed his brow. “Less go home, Steve. Do we have pumpkin soup?”

 

Twenty minutes later, after a bit of coaxing and much frowning, Steve finally got Tony to get into bed. It was a challenge in itself to find said bed, because Tony had been using it as some sort of closet for a week now, clothes, books, and all sorts of other things all over the place, while he opted to crash in the lab. Steve texted Pepper, though she must be asleep by then; he thought it was only right to give her an update. _All clear. Thanks, Pepper._

Steve sighed, sat down at his desk, and opened his laptop. It was almost two now, and Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to finish that paper before daybreak anyway, so he just made a few notes so he could pick up where he left off. Hopefully, he could use half of the afternoon to finish it. He shut the laptop and went to his bed, on the neater, less complicated side of the room.

“Good night, Tony,” he murmured as he drifted off to sleep.

 

“You could always stop being friends with him, you know,” Natasha Romanoff said, eyeing Steve at lunch. “Look at you. He’s obviously bad for your health.”

Steve's known Natasha for a long time, it seemed, but they only met last year, having the same European History class. She wasn't the most talkative of people, but she made a hell of a wingman. Not that Steve needed one, but being Tony's wingman meant Steve needed backup on occasion. Natasha was the kind of friend who didn't ask too many questions; she'd just show up with a shovel or whatever it was Steve needed (not that Steve ever actually needed a shovel).  She was really cool and minded her own business, so Steve knew things didn't look good when she spoke up about his friendship with Tony.

"Sometimes you remind me of Thor." She popped a french fry into her mouth. "He'll forgive Loki for anything, even when that little jerk goes too far."

Thor Odinson was another person Steve met in European History; Loki was his brother, a freshman and a bit of a troublemaker.

"They're family. Thor can never stay mad at Loki for very long," Steve reasoned.

Natasha tossed her hair over her shoulder, which Steve knew was an act of annoyance, because there wasn't much hair to toss - her red hair was barely past her chin. "My point exactly. Last I checked, you and Stark don't share DNA. He's not Batman, and you're no Alfred."

Steve blinked, pausing midchew. “Alfred? Can’t I be Robin or Commissioner Gordon, at least?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Did you finish that paper yet?”

Steve shook his head. “Will do the rest of it this afternoon.”

“I could share my notes if you need them. I had two days off earlier this week, so I had loads of time.”

“Thanks, Natasha, but I’m good.”

 

As luck would have it, Steve fell asleep halfway through writing his paper, and it was almost five when he woke up. He had a six o’clock class that evening, so he hurried to shower and change, leaving the paper behind.

He had just come back from his evening class when he found Tony all dressed up. Tony looked up from his tablet and grinned at Steve. “There’s the man of the hour! Thanks for bailing me out last night, Steve. Get dressed, we’re heading to Fury’s.”

Steve’s mouth twitched. He refused to smile, not even when Tony’s celebratory mood was so damn infectious, because then Tony would think everything is cool when it’s totally not. He sat down at his desk, ignoring Tony. He had a paper to finish.

“What, you’re _studying_?” Tony stared at him. “Come on, Rogers. It’s Saturday night. Quit studying and have some fun.”

Steve finally let his annoyance show, his tone a little sharp when he spoke. “Tony, this is due on Monday.” He made a frustrated gesture. “I don’t have time. Especially since I had to bail someone out in the middle of the night when I was supposed to be writing.”

Tony raised his hands, as if to appease. “I’ll write it for you in the morning. I did mine in twenty minutes.”

Steve frowned. “Tony, no.” He sighed. “I’m not cheating.”

Tony shook his head, wagging a finger. “It wouldn’t be cheating, it’d be . . . tutoring.” Tony gave Steve a look. “You gotta have some fun, man. Or else your brain’ll be dripping out of your ears by Monday, and I’m not cleaning it.”

Steve just stared at Tony for a long second. Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe he was being a lot like Thor when it came to Tony. He sighed again, shrugging, throwing up his hands.

“All right, that’s the spirit. Besides, I invited Barnes,” Tony said, eyes lit up with excitement. “He and Rhodey’ll meet us at Fury’s in half an hour.” James “Rhodey” Rhodes was Tony’s friend since childhood, and he and Steve had ROTC together.

Fury’s was a bar just outside campus, and on a night like this, it’d be packed with people. It was the last thing Steve wanted tonight, but if it meant getting Tony off his case and getting a chance to hang with Bucky, he figured he might as well take it.

 

Steve was never one to drink, and having a ridiculously high alcohol tolerance meant he was always the designated driver. He sat at the bar and watched his friends duke it out at darts, which, at their current state of inebriation, they shouldn’t be allowed to do, lest they manage to poke someone’s eye out. But booze and being surrounded by beautiful girls always made these guys stupid, and Steve knew better than pry the darts from their fingers. It was Tony’s turn to shoot, and he was blinking hard as he tried to focus on the target. Rhodey laughed as he helped himself to another bottle of beer, and Bucky had this shit-eating grin as he draped his arms around the shoulders of two girls Steve recognized as cheerleaders.

“Boo, Stark, you suck,” Bucky yelled over the noise and the music.

Tony just scoffed and threw the dart. It didn’t even get anywhere near the board.

“Bucky’s right, for once,” Natasha, who was bartending that night, murmured as handed a drink to the customer sitting next to Steve. “You having another one of those, Rogers?” She nodded toward the empty beer bottle he was holding. Without missing a beat, she took people’s orders, started making a margarita, and handed Steve a new bottle before he could answer.

“Bucky would be happy to know you agree with him.” Steve chuckled. He watched her now. Natasha at work was a pretty awesome sight. Ever efficient, Natasha made up for her lack of flamboyance with quick delivery.

Natasha smirked. “It’s been known to happen on rare occasion.”

Steve laughed, taking a swig of his beer. “Too bad that never happened when you were together.”

Natasha snorted. “We were never ‘together’, Steve. We had a thing, that’s all.”

“He really likes you, you know,” Steve said, earnest.

“He likes anything with nice legs,” Natasha pointed out. “And since I happen to have amazing legs, so I guess you do have a point.”

Their conversation was cut short about fifteen minutes later when a crowd started chanting “Take it off, take it off,” only for Steve to realize that Tony was in the middle of it, in the process of undoing his belt. He’d lost his shirt sometime ago.

Groaning, Steve got up from his seat. “Catch you later, Natasha.”

 

Hauling a drunk Tony home was one thing, but it was another to have two more drunk passengers. Fortunately Rhodey managed to get himself into his apartment without assistance. Tony had passed out way before they even reached the dorms, so Steve left Tony in the car to deposit Bucky in front of his room. Steve realized that Bucky’s roommate was out, so he unlocked the door using the spare key that he had and shoved Bucky inside. Tony was still out cold when he got back to the car. Their dorm room was on the other side of the complex, and for a moment Steve just didn’t feel like starting the car, suddenly feeling very tired. He sat there, staring blankly at the dashboard before turning to glimpse at Tony.

Everyone thought Tony was an asshole; and while he truly was one, he wasn’t _just_ an asshole. He was a scientific genius, and he was a good friend. Steve remembered the first week they met: everyone made fun of Steve for being a skinny little kid, but Tony stood up for him when a bully was beating Steve up. Now, Tony wasn’t so big himself at the time—having graduated high school early, Tony was barely seventeen. He wasn’t in any way physically threatening or intimidating, but there he was, eye to eye with the big, surly guy who threatened to bash Steve’s face in, Tony demanding that Steve be left alone. Both of them came back to their dorm room with bruised faces and bloody noses, but Steve knew that they were friends from that day on.

They both got their growth spurts a year later (Steve’s was two years overdue, and Tony’s needed a bit more . . . growth), they could pretty much hold their own by then. With the arrival of Bucky, Steve’s childhood friend, and Rhodey, nobody really dared to mess with any of them.

So maybe Natasha was right about Steve’s dilemma. Maybe being Tony’s friend and having to clean up after him was more than Steve bargained for, but in his own way, Tony was brave and generous and loyal, and Steve knew he was all the better for it. Natasha just didn’t understand what kind of person Tony was.

Steve started the car and headed back to their dorm room. Tony was still tuckered out, so Steve had to pretty much carry him into the room.

“Good night, Tony,” Steve murmured as he fell to his own bed, giving in to exhaustion.

 

Sundays meant sleeping in, and Steve was sure it wasn’t anywhere near noon when Jane Foster, one of their RAs, started banging on the door then let herself into Steve and Tony’s room.

“Rogers,” she called out. “Steve, wake up!” There was an urgency in her voice that got Steve stumbling out of bed.

He groaned but got up. “Jane?” He blinked, confused. “What’s happening? What are you doing here?”

“It’s Tony,” Jane said, panting, her hands on her hips as she tried to catch her breath.

Now Steve was totally awake. “What, where is he?”

“He stole Dean Lensherr’s coffeemaker because the one in the common room is broken.”

Steve doesn’t even bother putting a shirt on as he ran outside in last night’s jeans that he slept in. “Tell me where he is, Jane.” He moved her along and slammed the door shut behind them. “Hurry.”

**Author's Note:**

> *5150 is California's police radio code for "mentally disturbed person," which has been Steve and Pepper's code for getting Tony out of trouble.


End file.
